Liv:
«Filthy harlots — the Lord's grape!
With lore ornamentéd entreating;
Hollow heartéd, heart-departéd —
Yet thou reapest the blooming rose —
When 'tis the weed which is to be swath'd!»
Raymond:
«I do, in the blooming flower, pleasure find!»
Liv:
«And me in the yesterdays bind?!»
Raymond:
«Innocence is reservéd for the meek:
Of naught is my grasp ne'er to be!»
Liv:
«Hah! — for thee even a hound holdeth the throne.
Unwantéd child of mother! — Plague of plagues!
Father of leprous children.
I wield ye to stint this brawl!
Nigh is the ford — yet harken! — do not thwart!
Desirest thou to do it withal,
I shall cause thy body by one head too short!
Sayest ye nay to my boon;
Then wilt thou from bloodshed swoon!»
Raymond:
«Err me not! — Must ye bethink my foolhardiness!
Be vanished! — Be banished! —
If ye deemest me not wroth.
My hand hieth to unsheathe the sword
Lest thou dost totter —
Whid along! — Wherefore irk my haughtiness?»
Raymond:
«Wherefore bereave
The kine of the sward?
Wherefore holdest thou for
Me such a quailing scowl?»
Liv:
«No man… No man at all!,
Be it lord or beggar
Bereaveth my dignity!»
Liv:
«Loom my darling sun —
Bear the scarlet colour!»